Rose.
And now that they are married, they still endure it!
Arthur.
Yes.
Rose.
And we, when we are married, Arthur, shall we—-?
Arthur.
Yes. I suppose so.
Rose.
[Passing her hand across her brow.] Phe—ew! [De Foenix, fast asleep, is now swaying, and in danger of toppling over. Clara grasps the situation and rises.]